Irrational
by Kavaul
Summary: Olivia can't find her socks. She thus enlists the help of an unenthused Basil. Very little chaos ensues.


**Okay, guys, I was **_**bored**_**. I watched The Great Mouse Detective, felt nostalgia, and got the idea for this. Then around halfway through, I got bored and then the idea of… well, yeah. But it's fair for a first-timer in The Great Mouse Detective.**

Now, it was a very known Fact, with a capital 'F' – that is how widely acknowledged it was – that Olivia was a very levelheaded, if not flighty and intelligent girl. In a crisis – such as, let's say, one of her schoolmates getting a paper cut – you could depend on her to soothe the bawling girl (or, on rare occasion, boy) and apply antiseptic and a colorful Band-Aid (taken effortlessly with some rummaging through the teacher's drawers and a sunny smile at the poor woman whenever she tried to scold her for the impertinence) within five minutes.

Then the little girl or boy who had promptly burst into tears over the little cut would sniffle, wipe their tears on their arms, and smile at Olivia, and she would smile back and then the world would resettle back on it's axis and life would go on. But because of this, however, it made it's way around town. And then people started saying, "How about you send your child over to Olivia? She's a wonderful playmate – so quiet, and she can keep them amused for _hours_." And then people started doing just that.

Perhaps her levelheadiness was because she often spent the summer afternoons and exactly one-hour after she completed her homework at Basil's, or because she liked to tinker with her father's toys, contrary to the belief that her father was wrapped around her little finger and that she herself did very little.

He'd been surprised, when, two days after he had been rescued from Ratigan, he'd come into the shop after visiting a cobbler's to fix the worn soles on his favorite shoes to find Olivia sitting in the debris of a dismantled ballerina music-box, wielding a screwdriver in one hand and a handful of bolts in the other, a pile of springs set to the side, face radiant and eyes bright as she explained that she'd figured out how it worked, and that it had been jamming halfway into the song, but the _real_ problem was that one of the springs had been half an inch too short. Olivia proceeded to ask him for one more day so she could remantle it, and informed him that it'd be complete and better than ever when he got it back.

It was actually half a day, and she'd presented it to him again, cheeks flushed with anticipation and thin tail taut with excitement, and he told her she had done a very good job and gave her a little pat on the head and then took it into his workshop and was surprised to find that it worked perfectly. When he'd talked to Basil – the swift and oft busy mouse had been almost jogging through the streets when he'd slipped on a puddle trying to avoid veering into Olivia's father – and, with his usual flair and self-pomp, he informed Olivia's father that yes, some of my own keen observation skills must have rubbed off onto her, and she'd been skimming some of the books in his lab, no, I don't want to talk further, I really am in a hurry, yes, nice to meet you.

But as well-known as Olivia's levelheadiness in the worst of situations was, as little-known was her habit to panic in the smallest of personal matters.

Such as losing an item; sentimentality wasn't common when something was lost.

There was a very short list of things that Olivia panicked about: losing the flower ballerina dancer that her father had made for her, having a brother to compete for affections with, and losing something that was vital to her functions.

On June twenty-third, Olivia's father was out for the day on errands, the shop was closed, and it was a pleasantly warm day with predictions of summer showers later on in the night. On June twenty-third, Olivia herself was in the small bedroom that was cozily efficient, replete with stuffed animals, wooden dolls, and a microscope and a hat that looked suspiciously like Basil's spare.

On June twenty-third, Olivia threw up her slim arms in fustration, jerking the drawer out of its socket and peering into the darkest corners of it as if it's secrets would reveal themselves. "There are no _socks_," She said, trying to wrap her mind around that notion. She had restocked her supply of fresh, clean socks just last night – she remembered, quite clearly, reaching up on her toes to tip the container of socks into it, and then crawling onto the bed to organize them so she could reach into it without looking and get a pair of clean ones with ease.

Once having taken the drawer itself out of the dresser, she could see if even one sock remained in it.

There were none.

This was _serious_, she thought, pulling off the socks she was donning at the moment (the soles soaked in mud and grime during recess when she'd been racing against another boy and won, but had taken her shoes off because you were not allowed to get them dirty – and, after all, when she put them on again, you couldn't see the damage and the only thing that reminded you of it was that uncomfortable squelching feeling of wet mud) and futilely wiping off the dirt caked on the soles of her feet as she sat on the edge of her bed, wondering what to do next.

Basil, she decided, would be able to find them. He'd said so himself – June was a month of lazy disimportance, and crimes are rare, it's August that you have to watch out for, nasty bugger. So he would _certainly_ find time to accommodate his schedule for this most recent mystery; the Case of the Missing Socks. It was _important_ to her, thus by default, it had to be important to _him_.

Thus, armed with this logic, Olivia set out of the toy shop with a determined set to her shoulders and a proper dress and her father's loafers (the shiny black shoes gave sockless feet blisters easily) that hid the fact that she was Sockless, a serious crime in suburbia London. Marching towards Basil's favorite place of residence, she craned her neck to see into the window, and – there! He was lounging in his preferred chair, the traditional pipe in place, reading the newspaper with the look that meant that he was absolutely _disgusted_ with the unoriginality of some criminals and their lack of innui. Not like Ratigan – now _he_ was a gem.

So she trotted to the door, knocked on it lightly, and imagined Basil scrambling up from his chair, startled, before answering the door in the hopes of something to break the mundane routine of his days. The slightly disheveled look and feverish excitement in his eyes only confirmed her theory, but the excitement deflated as soon as his eyes went down and saw the little girl on his doorstep. "Oh. You." He managed a smile, stepping aside to let her in, closing the door, then trudging after her to collapse bonelessly into his seat again.

"So, what brings you here?" He managed interest, and Olivia frowned. "Basil – _Basil_!" Repeating herself once his eyes started to glaze over and drift away after the first word, she'd plow on bravely: "Basil – it's horrible!" His spine stiffened, nose in the air like he was sniffing a good, juicy mystery. "Yes?"

She made herself comfortable, and lifted her feet, exposing the too-large loafers and sockless feet. "All of my socks just – just _disappeared_!" Basil's hopes were pricked, and he visibly deflated once again. Again managing concern – she did seem almost _hysterical_ over such a little thing – "Really?"

Olivia nodded vigorously. "Yeah! I got some new ones last night, Basil, but when I got back from school, they were _gone_!" A wide-eyes look and a 'poof' hand gesture to go along with it, Basil acted enraptured. "Really – I mean, is that so? Well-then-Olivia; it's time for us to embark on another quest!" Springing out of his seat with languid ease, he'd continue, caught up in the enthusiasm of her panic, "Well, then, let us investigate the crime scene!" Opening the door, the motherly woman bustled in just as Basil was taking his first step out, Olivia wriggling past him, and she tried to call them back with a futile, "Wait!"

But, alas, it was too late; Basil had already swept out of the room with customary gusto.

They arrived at the toy-shop with Olivia nearly dragging Basil, unlocking the door with a key from her pocket and then ushering him inside before locking it again with a furtive glance around. Then she led him to her room, and showed him the empty drawer, and then together they sat on the bed – Basil almost in a fetal position, knees drawn up and spine curved as so he wouldn't hit his head against the ceiling, which was lower than most adults are comfortable with.

"This is a crime of incredible incroyability!" Basil declared with enthusiasm after a moment, head rising as he stood in a moment of inspiration, but this ascent was halted halfway when he hit his head on an overhead beam and cringed. Olivia gave him a look. "Is incroyable a word?" Basil shot her a dirty look, rubbing the goose-egg-sized bump on his scalp. "It is _now_." He retorted petulantly, sitting on the bed again.

Olivia peered at him. "But what could have _happened_ to the socks? I don't have any socks _left_!" Her voice reached higher octaves, tears threatening to fall. Basil, faced with the newest challenge of soothing a hysterical child on the verge of tantruming, stood up to make a tactical retreat, and hit his head on the overhead beam again, ending up fumbling with the door and then pushing out, taking a deep breath, before bending down again to peer through the doorway. "Hey, uh," His skill with children simply _oozed_. "Don't worry, Olivia, we'll find them, okay? And even if we don't find them, I'll buy some more for you – okay? _Okay_?" His voice bordered on panic now, and Olivia sniffled a little. "Okay, Basil." So they both went out of the small bedroom, and stood behind the counter for a bit, Basil wondering what to do and Olivia doing the same.

They shifted awkwardly for a few moments, and then Basil said, "Ah-_hah_! A clue!" and strode over to a corner by the door, where there was a lonely, unloved sock loitering near the door's hinges, right where it would have opened and very few look.

Basil opened the door, peering out into the street and squinting into the sun. "Well, Olivia, I do believe that your socks have been brought to the dry cleaner's." The named mouse blinked, and picked up the sock, and said, "But why? My socks are all clean – we cleaned them just two days ago." That hole cut into his theory, Basil sighed and harrumphed and then took the sock to study it and then gave it back to Olivia. "Well then, maybe we should wait for your father to come home?" She gave a listless shrug, energy spent on the earlier almost-tantrum, and then he offered to play a game of Chess with her and her face lit up and then they played late into the evening, and even then Olivia was the victor, declaring a triumphant, "Checkmate." With a smirk and collecting the spoils: a packet of gum and a strawberry-flavored lollipop (her favorite).

Basil made the appropriate whining and unhappy complaining, but crisis diverted (unhappy Olivia was not much better than tantrum Olivia) he felt quite self-important. So Olivia chomped and smacked on her gum, and Basil scrounged through the pantries for food and made a sandwich for both of them with money to make up for the almost-stolen goods that he'd used for his own hunger, and this was the sight Olivia's father came home to – Olivia's gum was placed subtly on the side of her plate for when she finished the sandwich, and Basil was clearing up the remains of the Chess game with one hand and eating a cheese sandwich with the next.

Her father was carrying a bag slung over his back, and Basil muttered a quick, "I'll just be going now," feeling awkward around Olivia's father after the fact that he rather enjoyed looking after Olivia himself, and fled the scene through the door.

Olivia's father smiled at her, and she raced to give him a hug. "Daddy?" Crouching so they were eye level: "Yes, Olivia?" She peered at him with wide eyes. "Did you steal my socks?" He blinked, straightening and brushing hair out of her face. "I suppose…?" Frowning in thought. "Ah, yes." His demeanor turned sheepish. Olivia gave him a Look. "Da-aad, what'd you do?"

"Well, um, it's a long story, but I _may have_, ah, decimated your sock supply, so… er, I went out to buy new ones and I was _hoping_ I'd get here before you." A look at the already-dark skies. "I geuss that hope wasn't really… yeah." Olivia laughed. "Dad, I forgive you, it's okay!" Chattering away as she led him into her room and he emptied the bag of fresh pairs of socks onto the floor, he smiled.

"Sososo, me and Basil had a _great _time and we played Chess and I totally kicked his _butt_ and then he got really quiet and whin…" Her voice becoming something like white noise, he looked out the window, kissed her good-night, and retreated to his own bedroom.


End file.
